Robyn

Have I ever told you why I became a children’s worker? Why working with kids on the fringes became my passion?

It was my first summer working at a camp…12 years ago this June.  I ventured out halfway across Canada with my sisters and cousin as we dared to try something new and find out what really was so great about giving up our whole summer to live and work on camp.

There were a great many experiences that summer and I cherish a lot that I learnt and the people that I met. But one memory sticks out….one moment and conversation with a child…her name was Robyn.

She’d be struggling for the first few days, causing a few difficulties, and eventually I asked her if she wanted to go for a walk and have a jump on the trampoline as she wasn’t doing well with whatever program they were meant to be at that moment. As she jumped on the trampoline, the 17 year old version of myself actually had the wisdom to ask all the right questions. Eventually Robyn just spilled it all.

Turned out she hated herself, as with having short hair and being a bit of a tomboy, she always got mistaken for a boy. She was also living in a really bad environment, got abused regularly and had gone through some horrific abuse that at that point in my life, I couldn’t fathom any little girl could be put through. I think I may have very well been the first person to look her in the eye, tell her she was worth something and that she in fact didn’t deserve anything she had been through. The conversation ended with me promising to send her a postcard from Toronto when I went home at the end of the summer, as she had never received a postcard before.

I remember being surprised at how well I had done in the conversation with Robyn and how I had been able to keep my emotions in check despite how shocked I had been by what she had shared with me. Later that night, after all the kids had gone to sleep, I remember sharing what had happened with the head cabin leader. When she asked if I was okay and gave me a hug, I began to sob uncontrollably into her shoulder. She told me that these things are never easy to hear for the first time…but that we should never become so used to hearing them that we forget how horrible and unfair the injustice of all of it is.

I have met literally hundreds of kids that I have come along side, had conversations with, and journeyed with for both short and longer periods of time, since this conversation 12 years ago. But that was the moment that I knew God had called me to work with the Robyn’s of this world…to come along side and be a voice to the children who no one was listening to and to do everything I could to make their lives safe.

I did send a postcard to Robyn when I got home to Toronto that summer, but the address I was given to write to couldn’t be completely guaranteed that that’s where she was still living. I mailed it anyways.  I guess more then anything, it was a symbolic gesture asking that wherever this little girl ended up, I was going to have to trust that God would have her back.

So…I suppose these things are supposed to end with a morale or a lesson of some sort.  I guess it’s just this…sometimes serving just flat out sucks. Helping isn’t easy…giving to others hurts, and will always cost something from us in return.

But it definitely helps to remember the why.

Protector

I am a protector.

This is not a self appointed title, but one that has given to me. However, upon reflection of my life and memories I have accepted that it is in fact part of who I am.

I can remember going on an excursion/field trip in primary school and we took the subway/train. I spent the entire time while we were waiting for the subway to arrive, making sure my classmates and peers were lined up against the wall, far away from the yellow line near the edge of the platform, and thinking to myself how silly the teachers were to take kids on the subway. This wasn’t out of a need to be in control, but rather a need to protect them from the danger that being in a subway presented.

I can remember being 8 or 9, bundled up in a snow suit, out in the school yard during recess. I didn’t always get along with her, and we didn’t become best friends until high school, but someone was picking on my cousin. I’m pretty sure they had smashed her snow fort or something similar. I gathered up my courage and began the one and only attempt at a physical fight that I’ve ever undertook. I told the bully off and maybe pushed her once or twice, having no idea how to begin such brawls...but it all ended as quickly as it had started with it getting broken up by a teacher. I may not have got along with her then, but I still felt it was my job to protect my cousin from school yard bullies.

I can remember being maybe 12 or 13 and my little brother was really sick with the flu. I slept on the floor by his bed, getting up throughout the night to check his temperature and to wet the cloth that was on his forehead. I’m sure he would’ve survived that night had I not been there watching him, but I was compelled to sit by his side and to make sure that he was protected by his big sister.

I can remember being 21 and taking a group of fellow leaders during a weekend off at camp one summer to go and get piercings done...being the responsible head cabin leader that I was. The last person to get something done was my sister, who I went in with. The guy took too long piercing her ear, and she went pale and fainted. I remember helping her lay down and saying “breathe, just breathe” trying my best to stay calm. She recovered moments later, but I spent the rest of the afternoon sitting on the porch of my cabin while she slept in my bed, making sure she was protected from any further harm.

I can remember one very cold Friday night, not long before I moved out to Australia, going to down town Toronto with Sharon, where we looked for people who were sitting on the street who could use something to eat and some company. Sharon with her beautiful soul can instantly strike up conversation with anyone, and did so with agentleman who was sitting on the frozen sidewalk. I don’t remember if I was standing or sitting...if I had even said anything...but this man looked at me and said, “are you her protector?” Sharon was the conversation, and I was the protector, making sure she didn’t come to any harm.

I am a protector. In the realization of what that means, it helps me understand how hard it was to leave my family, most especially my siblings, to move to Australia. If I spend too long thinking about where they are, what they’re doing, and what they could possibly need protection from...I go a little crazy. I feel sad because I miss them desperately, but I also feel without control as they are now beyond any hope I have to protect them and keep them from whatever harm might come their way.

My second year in Australia, I tried to fully rely on God for the protection of my family. I even had specific prayers for members of my family as to what I wanted them protected from. I remember getting the news that there had been an accident. Even before I knew all the details, all I could do was yell at God “I told you to protect her!” I hadn’t been there to protect my sister and those with her, and all I could see was that neither had God.

It’s now 6 years since I’ve moved to Australia...and I still can’t dwell too long on the specifics of what my family members might be doing...because I still miss them, but also because I still worry about being too far away to be the protector.

Maybe it’s because I’m the oldest sibling...or perhaps it’s because have an innate desire within my personality to be in control. It’s probably both. Regardless, isn’t acknowledgement the first step to recovery?

I don’t think being a protector is necessarily a bad thing. I would like to think it’s what drives me to be an advocate as a children’s worker in areas and communities that are in need of more protectors. I would also like to think it’ll make me a really good mother one day...although I pray not one that is OVER-protective.

But the downside? Worry. Stress. Needing to feel in control. Feeling that if I’m not there to protect them, who is? The constant test of the size and strength of my faith in God as I wrestle to relinquish control back to Him.

It’s a daily struggle to remind myself that I may be A protector...but I am in fact not THE protector. But really, what a relief it is to acknowledge that truth. That in fact, it isn’t me that keeps those I love safe and from harm...because in reality, there are a great many things in this world that are beyond the protection that a human hand can give. It doesn’t all make sense...and as long as we’re on this world it isn’t going to (my plug for my love of Ecclesiastes here in helping us to see the absurdity of this world) but how much more will I actually enjoy life if I can leave the protecting up to the one who not only loves the ones that I love, but created them too?

I am a protector. It’s part of who I am. But I am also a believer in a sovereign God who will one day make sense of this fallen and broken world. And to that truth, I will do my very best to continue to (daily) relinquish control.